


Low Blood Sugar

by somegunemojis



Series: Tender Mercies [25]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Hanger (Hunger+Anger), Pre-Romance, Sharing Lunch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:46:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26287432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somegunemojis/pseuds/somegunemojis
Summary: You're not yourself when you're hungry, or however that stupid commercial goes.
Relationships: Bettino Tahan & Ihab Rahal
Series: Tender Mercies [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893175





	Low Blood Sugar

October, 2017 -- VR, Italia

He’s not sure what exactly he’s expecting when he pushes the door open to the pawnshop, lo Fazzoletto, that afternoon. Bettino is never really sure what to expect with Ihab’s mercurial temper, whether he’s going to try and sink his claws into his spine and try to shred him in the name of curiosity, or if he will be all teeth, gnashing and snarling and hard-mouthed and -eyed. He doesn’t know if he’ll get the purring, contented creature that lets his hackles settle under his hands, or if Ihab will want to throw punches, talking with his fists as much as his mouth. He’s never really expected to have a cell phone hurtling towards his skull first thing-- the door isn’t even closed all the way yet when he ducks out of the perfectly arcing path. The glass of the thing shatters to pieces against the wall, and he traces its path back to the origin point: Ihab Rahal’s long-fingered hand. 

The man is practically shaking with rage, though Bettino can tell the ire is not _really_ aimed at him. He’s not afraid to ask, he’s just not sure if he should-- if asking will soothe Ihab or if it will fan the flames of his raging temper and send him up to the ceiling. He takes one step inside, two, and watches the way those silver eyes track him, flinty in his face. “I could have been a customer, you know,” he says, finally just biting the bullet and stepping forward fully, trailing his fingers along the top of the glass cases as he approaches, his other hand loosely gripping the strap of his backpack. 

“I know. That’s why I threw that, and not this--” his voice is hardly more than a venomous hiss, and he draws up like he’s going to come at him over the counter as Bettino approaches, brandishing a long carbon steel knife. Bettino snorts, and then he has to dodge the knife, too, listening to it shatter something behind him with a quiet sigh. The pause in his advance only gives Ihab time to dramatically wave his hand, and then reach up and run it through his hair with a snarl.

Perhaps bravely, perhaps stupidly, Bettino comes to a rest with his hip on the counter Ihab stands behind, setting his bag on the glass with a quirked eyebrow. “What crawled up your ass and died, _habibi_?” 

Ihab gives him a sharp look, shoulders relaxing at the bit of careful Arabic before remembering he’s supposed to be angry, and he makes an inarticulate sound of rage, teeth grit. “Nothing crawled up my ass and died, you son of a bitch--” He gestures again, this time at the poor, shattered cellphone that nearly caved in Bettino’s skull. “Fucking-- Orfeo Martinelli, that prick, that thrice-damned--” Falling silent again, Ihab watches him as he reaches into his worn bag and pulls out a pair of wrapped shawarma sandwiches, and a container of rice, and some fattoush. “What the hell is that?”

Bettino watches as the younger man's hands tremble faintly, the adrenaline and the anger still coursing under his skin like magma, and he gestures to the sandwich he’d set down close to him. “I brought lunch. That one’s for you. No pickles.” Ihab's brows furrow, like he’s not sure quite how to handle this, whatever 'this' may be. “Go on, then. I can tell you haven’t eaten breakfast, you're losing it.”

Almost violently, Ihab snaps the sandwich up and unwraps it, taking a bite like he’s imagining it’s a piece of Martinelli’s flesh. That’s fine-- he’ll feel better with a little food in him.


End file.
